


i'm hot like the prodigal son

by ironmanned (pipergrace2015)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, i would like to thank tumblr user sunnystark and their tags. thank you, inaccurate representation of whole foods, superheroes may or may not exist, title's from an alt-j song that doesnt really relate i was just listening to it while writing, uh rated g but theres one swear, update: theres actually two swears im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 23:24:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11702025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipergrace2015/pseuds/ironmanned
Summary: based on the tumblr post: "*over a grocery store PA* will the owner of the jet black maserati please fuck me" and tumblr user sunnystark's tags on the post“The car owner. They might or might not be in this store. Just say ‘Will the owner of this car please fuck me?’ or whatever.”





	i'm hot like the prodigal son

**Author's Note:**

> the narration is kinda iffy i think (or maybe its just the lack of sleep?) but uhh yeah i beta'd myself so if y'all see any mistakes feel free to point em out please and thanks. i've never been inside a whole foods.
> 
> enjoy?

Tony can’t remember the last time he bought his own groceries. 

There was always Jarvis, when he was young, and after that there was J.A.R.V.I.S. with online orders, and really, he could probably live on coffee (imported from South Africa, obviously) so why would he ever need to step foot in Wal-Mart, or wherever the hell he was. 

But his latest inventing spree kept him going for a whole seventy-two hours, designing and welding and creating. He isn’t even aware that it had been that long until Pepper barged in moments ago, using her override codes, and threatened him with bodily harm if he didn’t take a break and eat a proper meal. He’s reluctant to leave at first, until he registers that somewhere within the last four hours he’s drifted from meaningful work and instead accidentally glued a sheet of metal onto his forearm like some kind of deformed shield. 

So, yeah, he agrees that maybe a break would be nice, and Pepper storms away, heels clicking and hair whipping behind her like a trail of fire. Fire, which was hot, just like Pepper. 

“Tony!” Pepper exclaims, and he could see her coming back down the stairs again.

Did he say that aloud? Oops.

He rolls the chair he was sitting on towards the door to slow her down and hops into the nearest car (the MC12 Maserati; a sleek jet black beauty), yelling out an apology as he starts the car and steps on the gas, speeding up the ramp and practically launching himself out of the garage. 

“J, lead me to the nearest grocery store,” he says, throwing on a pair of sunglasses, and the route appears on the lenses without hindering his ability to see. He has both windows open and the wind is rustling his hair, and he can’t help but grin at the pure joy of it, with his music blasting loud and the sun shining bright.

He slows down to safer speeds once he spots other drivers on the road, revving the engine at red lights for everyone admiring the car. He hadn’t ordered the custom Stark license plate yet, meaning to all these people, he was just some random guy with a nice car. The anonymity of it is pleasant.

His glasses show that the store is close, and J.A.R.V.I.S. pulls up an image of the parking lot, highlighting the closest empty parking spots to the entrance on the car’s display. Parking next to the shopping cart drop-off, he digs out a hat from the glove compartment and puts it on, pulling up his sweater’s hood over it. After making sure he has his wallet, keys, and phone in his pockets, he steps out of the car, double tapping his glasses to turn off the display, and grabs a cart to makes his way inside. 

The first thing he sees upon entering is an infinite amount of fresh produce, and he almost walks back out. But he remembers Pepper, who might still be lurking around his house, and he’d rather eat a full serving of vegetables than irritate Pepper when she’s already irritated with him. 

Fresh produce it is, then.

Not wanting to draw attention to himself, because the glasses and hat won’t do well under close scrutiny, he picks fruits and vegetables at random and places them in his cart. It isn’t until he’s comparing two tomatoes does he realize that his selection is not random at all, but most of the ingredients needed to make the lasagna that his mom would make for special occasions. She had taught him the recipe when he was eight years old and deep in his chemistry phase. It took him a while to perfect, as he quickly learned that being good at chemistry doesn't equal being good at cooking, but he was the one to make it for his parent’s 25th anniversary, the last time they had sat around a table and enjoyed dinner with no tension or thinly-veiled insults. Though, most of that was because of him and Howard and the constant comparison to the ghost of Captain America.

Unfortunately, the past cannot be changed and it wasn’t Captain America’s fault that he was perfect. Some things just are the way they are.

When he finally comes back to himself, he’s in an aisle filled with wines, the dark glass bottles a much better sight compared to the the bright bell peppers and carrots, and maybe grocery stores aren’t that bad. 

Adding a few bottles of whatever he recognizes (Pepper always said that the best wines to get sloshed too were the cheap ones), he pushes his cart through the aisle and into the one right next to it, coming across all kinds of junk food. 

Soon enough, he’s been through all the aisles, and his cart is overflowing with everything and anything that caught his interest. It probably looked like he was going to host a romantic candle-lit dinner in one room and a frat party in another. Or maybe just a romantic dinner for five people with frozen fries and a gazillion chips and cookies in the mix. He had to keep that idea in mind for the next time Pepper and Rhodey brought a bunch of horrible sci-fi movies to drag him out of his workshop and put him to sleep with. 

There aren’t many people shopping at this time so only two cash registers are open, but Tony spots a cashier fiddling with a register without a lineup and heads over. 

The cashier just stares at him as he heads over, chin length hair and scruffy beard making him look all the more intimidating. Tony isn’t exactly sure what he’s supposed to do in a situation like this, and he’s about to open his mouth to ask, because, really, what’s with this guy-

When loud laughter startles them both, coming from the around the entrance. Mr. Intimidating sighs, running a shiny (metal?! _wicked!_ ) hand through his hair before pulling on an apron and a hat. The hat has a Whole Foods logo on it, and Tony stares at it for a bit, because honestly, he thought he was in a Wal-Mart or something. 

“How did you not notice the giant sign right outside the building?” The guy ( _James,_ his nametag reads) asks, and huh, Tony must have said that aloud. That definitely seems to be a thing he’s doing today.

Tony stares some more, and James-the-murderous-cashier gestures towards his cart with a raised eyebrow, so he hesitantly starts placing his items on the conveyer belt. He’s not sure if he even responded the question, or if he was even expected to respond. James isn’t looking at him like he’s awaiting an answer, though, so Tony thinks he’s safe. 

A blond and redhead ( _they were the ones laughing earlier,_ his mind supplies) are slowly making their way towards their lane, the blond putting on the apron that the redhead gives him, and James’ attention seems to be half on them, so Tony lets his own mind drift a little, making up his own blueprints for the metal arm based on its fluid movements and shifting plates. He notices that there’s barely any lag, and it’s fairly strong too, and he itches to touch it, to figure out if the pinky is twitching out of habit or if there’s something wrong. But no matter what Rhodey and Pepper say, he does have self-control when it’s needed, and he avoids looking like a weirdo, reaching for James’ metal arm. The fact that he’s starting to fall asleep standing has nothing to do with it.

“Credit or debit?”

“Yes.” No, wait. C’mon, brain. “Credit, sorry.”

The stare from before is back, and without breaking eye contact James reaches out and touches the screen with his non-metal arm. The debit machine lights up and Tony accepts the challenge, digging out a card to tap against the machine while maintaining the eye contact, and Tony thinks he sees a little smirk in response before James turns towards the screen, waiting for the receipt to print. 

His items are waiting, ready to be bagged and Tony heads to the end of the conveyer belt to do just that.

“Bucky!” Someone whisper-yells.

What the hell is a Bucky?

“What.” James replies. Ah, apparently that’s a Bucky.

Tony glances up while continuing to pack his food, and sees the redhead in the adjacent lane leaning over. The blond is groaning softly, the tips of his ears red. Interesting.

“While Steve was putting carts away he saw the love of his life in the parking lot.”

Now James is openly grinning, resting one hand on the printer and turning towards her. This must be one of those _Tony-Pepper-Rhodey_ friendships, then.

“Can you please not,” Steve-the-hot-blond asks, but Tony can hear the resignation in his voice.

“Damn, really? But it’s barely been a week since-”

“Shut up, Bucky,” Steve mumbles, and both James and the redhead snicker.

She reaches up to cover Steve’s ears before leaning over even more. Steve pouts, but doesn’t move to remove them.

“Surprisingly, she wasn’t as old as the others, but she was a beauty. I’d kill for her,” she whispers, and snickers again like she just made a joke.

“What’s her make?” James asks, voice just as quiet.

“Nat,” Steve whines.

But Nat (Natalie? Natasha?)-the-stunning-redhead smiles at him with no mercy. “A jet black MC12 Maserati.”

James raises an eyebrow and looks at Steve, and Tony, knowing the guy for maybe seven minutes, can tell that he’s shocked. 

“MC12?” James echoes, and only then does it process in Tony's brain that _that’s his car._

Tony goes over their conversation again, and finally understands that Steve is into the older antique cars, and the fact that he’s showing interest in the Maserati is a shock to his friends.

He looks over at Steve, considering, at the Whole Foods hat that covers his blond hair but not the blush dusting his cheeks or ears, at his shirt that seems a few sizes too tight, showing off his broad shoulders and amazing arms. The counter hides the rest, but Tony knows that he’s gorgeous all-around. Yeah, he’d probably give the car to Steve if he agreed to a date or something. 

He’s almost finished bagging his food, and he’s debating using an innuendo about rides or the one with that line from Aladdin when the printer lets out a horrid screech and stops printing. 

“Just ran out of paper, sorry about that,” James mutters to him, already opening up the machine and doing… something to it.

Steve hops ( _what the fuck?_ ) over the counter and shoos James’ hands away, pulling out the empty paper roll and replacing it with a new one. James is still for a moment, before he glances at Nat then Tony and slightly nods to himself. 

“Steve,” James says, throwing another quick glance at Tony. Tony puts the last of the bags in his cart and leans against it, waiting for his receipt.

“Ask them out.”

Steve freezes, and Tony does too. “What?”

“The car owner. They might or might not be in this store. Just say _‘Will the owner of this car please fuck me?’_ or whatever.”

Steve turns to look at him incredulously, the machine completely forgotten, and Tony silently thanks the universe for making this happen.

“ _Bucky!_ ” He looks around worriedly, but there’s no one close enough to overhear them.

“What have you got to lose?” James counters, and there’s something more to that question that Tony can’t identify, but it seems to do the trick, because after looking to Nat, Steve picks up the phone and presses a few buttons.

“Will the owner of the black Maserati please go on a date with me?” Steve mutters into the phone, and it echoes around them on the P.A. system as he slams the phone down, his glare as intimidating as a kitten because of his blush. 

James makes a little motion with his hands at Tony, and Tony rolls his eyes back because there is no way he’s letting this opportunity pass him by.

He slowly walks along the conveyer belt to where Steve is, and Steve jumps a little when he spots him, before he remembers the machine he was fixing and goes back to it.

“Sorry about… all that,” Steve says, and he looks at Tony and gives a bashful smile. He glances over to Tony’s cart. “It’s not much, but I can help you load your stuff into your car to make up for that, if you want?”

Tony sees James fist bump the air while mouthing _‘yes!’_ and Tony very much feels like doing the same.

“Yeah, that- That would be great.”

The machine chooses to spew out the rest of his receipt then, and Steve hands it to Tony, their fingers brushing. They head outside together, and the sun illuminates Steve’s hair, his hat left back with Nat.

There aren’t many cars in the parking lot, and his car is alone by the cart drop-off, so Tony stops walking to bring out his phone and hand it to Steve. 

Steve stops too, looking at Tony with faint worry, which is incredibly cute. It turns to confusion when Tony presses his phone into Steve’s hand.

“Your number? For that date?” He prompts, and it takes a few seconds before Steve’s eyes widen in understanding.

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Steve bites his lip and the blush is coming back faintly, and Tony really wants to find out just how far down it goes.

Tony starts moving again, and Steve trails behind, looking at the car, then Tony, then his phone, then the car again. 

When they reach the car Tony remembers that it doesn’t have a trunk, so he opens the passenger’s side door and starts throwing in bags. Before he could throw the bag containing tomatoes, Steve steps in, exchanging the bag with the phone. Tony smiles at the tomato emoji beside Steve’s name ( _Steve Rogers…_ ), and opens a new chat to send a text so Steve will have his number as well. 

The cart is empty and his car is full, so Tony rolls it to the drop-off. Steve is standing by the closed passenger door, massaging at his right forearm, right hand held in a fist.

“This isn’t… Isn’t like a pity date, is it?” Steve is looking right at him, and Tony’s immediate thought is _soldier_ , because that’s what he looks like right now.

“What? No, of course not. I considered giving you the car if you gave me your number when it was just your friends teasing you.” 

The tension slowly leaves Steve’s shoulders and he smiles, uneven with just a hint of teeth, rubbing the back of his neck. The sun is painting his hair gold. Tony’s heart clenches at the sight.

“That won’t be necessary; just your name will do.”

At that, Tony grins, opening the car door and sliding inside. He lowers the windows and beckons Steve closer. Taking off his hood and tossing his hat aside, he double taps his glasses to turn the display on and watches as Steve takes everything in, from his face to the car to the futuristic glasses, making connections, but not quickly enough.

“But Steve, you know who I am.” He puts the car into drive but keeps his foot on the brake, letting the engine pur. “What do you say to tomorrow at 7pm, home cooked Italian cuisine, business casual, at my house? I’ll text you the address.” And with that he takes his foot off the brake, and Steve gets the memo, stepping backwards so Tony can pull out, driving in a half-circle around Steve and blowing him a kiss before he’s on the road, heading home.

“Text from Steve Rogers, sir.” J.A.R.V.I.S. announces, just as his phone buzzes. 

“Read it?”

“ _’Tony Stark… why do I feel like I’m going to be saying your name a lot, but not for the right reasons?’_ ”

Tony laughs. He feels like he could fly. 

“J, reply with _‘Why not both? I’m known to be quite the handful...’_ ”

His phone buzzes moments after and J.A.R.V.I.S. reads the response without prompting.

“ _’Tony!!’_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ironmanned!! post for this fic is @ironmanned/post/163780987501/


End file.
